


Let's Forgo the Mistletoe, Darling

by xxJillianElizabethxx



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Asexual Character, But They're Not Dating, Canon Trans Character, F/M, Female Pronouns for Grell Sutcliff, othello is the mom friend, the h key is broken on my laptop so some wacky things may have gone down in this, they make an appearance in ch 2 for like a hot sec, this was supposed to be a quirky one-shot but then it got long and serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxJillianElizabethxx/pseuds/xxJillianElizabethxx
Summary: William T. Spears is stoic and lonely. Grelle Sutcliffe wants to change that.It’s the enemies to lovers boss/employee workplace au-but-it’s-actually-canon christmas fic that no one asked for, but I wrote anyway! Aka I’m a touch-starved asexual projecting onto Will. Also, I took this far more seriously than I initially intended, whoops.And, as the tags say, she/her pronouns for Grelle because it’s what she deserves. If that upsets you, leave now and don’t start drama on my fic :)
Relationships: William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. An Invitation

He had never meant to disdain her, he just could not understand her.

They worked together, sure, but they hardly knew one another. He would even hesitate to call her his friend. They just worked together. They spoke on occasion, exchanging more than mere pleasantries every now and then, he supposed; but they never saw each other outside the office.

In truth, William T. Spears hardly ever saw anyone outside the office.

He liked to get his work done efficiently, even if it meant overtime. After parting from his dear papers for the day, he would walk alone to the apartment he lived in by himself. There, he would drink alone, or read alone, or play cards alone. Then, he would go to bed alone, praying for a peaceful night of recharging in preparation for another mundane repetition of the previous day’s events.

This was to his wishes as well.

After putting up with the eclectic collection of reapers at work all day, he did not want to spend more time with them – and he certainly did not want them intruding upon his home.

Colleagues would sometimes insist he join them for drinks, or try to set him up on dates, much to his chagrin. He dismissed the former as inappropriate, as it was generally his employees – those in the retrieval division of the London Branch he so proudly directed could certainly spend less time partying and more time doing their work! – asking for his company.

The latter, however, was a different situation.

He was not interested in a relationship. Everyone probably assumed this was because he cared too much for his work to put effort into a significant other.

William would not correct them, but they could not be more wrong. He did want a relationship. In fact, he rather craved the simple intimacy of domesticity.

But that was all. He did not want a relationship beyond that. He was not against things more _traditionally_ intimate, if that was what his partner so desired, but he himself did not – nor would he ever.

The unfortunate matter, however, was that he did not know how he would explain that to someone in the future; and he had someone in mind, even if he would never dare admit it. Besides, for the moment, he had no friends to share these feelings with. Friends were few for the hard-working reaper. Acquaintances were more his type.

Ah yes! That’s what she was! Grelle Sutcliffe was his acquaintance - and quite an annoying one at that.

“Oh, Will!”

Instinctively, William reached into the top drawer of his desk for his death scythe, already preparing himself for the migraine he was sure would come soon; but she burst through his door in a blur of red before he could grab it. And he knew he would never hear the end of her masochistic tendencies if he had succeeded in threatening her.

He would just have to brave this interaction unaided.

“What do you need, Sutcliffe,” he grumbled, adjusting his glasses, “and must I remind you yet again to knock and await my permittance before coming into my office?”

She sauntered over to his desk, sitting demurely upon the chair across from him.

“You know I simply adore when you reprimand me, darling,” she cooed, pouting slightly as her half-hooded eyes met his.

“I repeat,” his tone indicated he was quickly losing his patience, “what do you need?”

She was examining her nails, pretending to be distracted so as to make him wait for her response. He knew her tricks far too well by now. Yet, he said nothing, playing into her game simply because it was the easiest option he had.

“I wanted to see if you had plans for Friday night,” she inquired, still fixated on her chipping red nail varnish.

William let out a heavy sigh, returning to his work.

“You already know the answer to that, I’m sure. So if you’re just hear to mock me–”

He heard her shift, and her hands quickly (and loudly) came into his view as she spread them upon his desk. Then she grew bolder, leaning across to meet his eye.

Suddenly, WIlliam’s thoughts started racing, thinking this was the closest she had ever gotten to his face – “that can’t possibly be true” he thought – and he also hoped the heat he felt in his cheeks was not visible to her. The fact that she had yet to tease him for it made him think not.

Though after a moment, the left corner of her mouth raised ever so slightly into a smirk and he felt his fluster was becoming more obvious. He was quite possibly as red as those rouged lips he was fixated on, otherwise she would not be looking at him _like that_. He had not even considered that the reason for her expression was related to his obvious point of fixation.

“Exactly,” she began slowly, “which is why I thought I’d extend an invitation to you.”

His eyebrows shot up and his mouth hung open ever so slightly. Before he could reply, she elaborated.

“It’s just a small thing at my place – Ronnie and Othello will be there – and you’ve got to get out more! I mean, do you ever do anything fun?”

So caught off guard, William heard himself agree before he knew what he was saying, hardly registering that he accepted an invitation to Grelle’s apartment.

“Wonderful!” she sang, “can’t wait for friday.”

As she closed the door, he dropped his head upon his desk with a distinct thud. He dreaded already the long week ahead of him.

Perhaps years of working together had made Grelle less of an acquaintance and more of a friend, he pondered. Although, he told himself that she was not the kind of friend he wanted.

She was loud and flashy and passionate, and so much more sociable than he – not that that was a difficult thing to accomplish.

Unfortunately, she was also a massive flirt, and she had no regard for his aversion to such tactics. She teased and toyed with nearly all the men they worked with and then some; but these interactions always seemed superficial. Perhaps it was his own ego changing the narrative, but he was of the opinion that there was genuine attraction behind such with him and no one else, which was somehow even more daunting.

However, the element which William faulted her the most for was not her excessive lurid comments to him, but rather that she was positively adorable when she said them.

William would not deny that it was sweet of her to go out of her way to see him so often, even if it bothered him to no end when he was trying to avoid more overtime on account of her. Maybe, he thought, her affections were not quite as unwelcome a distraction as he claimed them to be.

No, indeed. He was madly in love with Grelle Sutcliffe.

Hopelessly, actually, would be more accurate, for he knew someone like her would never love someone like him. Anyone could tell from her behavior that she had certain expectations for her lover; and William did not even wish to be anyone’s lover.

Not even her – the wild redhead of the retrieval division who drove him fair mad with her antics; who flirted shamelessly with half her division, her mentees, and him: her boss; who made his heart race and his cheek burn with her mere presence, like just a few moments ago.

He would just have to go to her place – oh God! he mentally added, the realisation of his assent sinking in – and make an effort to be friendly. Just friendly.

Maybe she was right – for a change – maybe having a friend or two would do him some good.


	2. Let's Forgo the Mistletoe

The invitation from Grelle had been extended on Monday afternoon, and William feared the week would never end. However, when Thursday came and went without any internal acknowledgement of it being Christmas Eve, he grew certain that he had been dreading the impending holiday.

The dispatch was mostly empty on Christmas Day – not even the holidays can conquer death, but the few reapers on duty were working hard for those who wished to get in the holiday spirit. Some did not celebrate, others did so out of kindness, the few young ones were most likely there on punishment, and then there was William.

Working during the day whilst unaccustomed to having anyone to spend it with bothered him not, but staying late on any day was a severe nuisance.

And today of all days, it was the last thing he needed.

Thankfully, the 25th of December ended up being one of the rare days he was able to clock out on time. So, as the clock in his office struck six o’clock, he promptly closed his files, locked his desk, and practically ran home.

He was not one for vanity, but thinking of the woman he would be spending the evening with enticed him to put a bit more effort than usual into his appearance. He splashed some water on his face, put on a crisp pair of trousers, and swapped out his typical black cravat for a red one.

“It is for the holidays,” he sternly told his reflection, condemning himself for daring to think he had chosen the colour for _her_.

As he walked over to her apartment, he focused on the chill in the air, the stars in the sky. Frankly, he let his mind fixate on anything he could so as to restrain its tendency to wander off to the worst of what the night may hold.

In far less time than he had anticipated, William found himself stood in front of Grelle’s home, unable to bring himself to knock. His hands remained stuck at his sides as he took to studying the traditional carvings of her door, as well as the large red bow she had fixed upon it. He was considering whether or not this bow was solely a Christmas decoration when it swung away from him, a flourish of red hair and holly taking its place.

“I thought I heard footsteps.” she practically squealed, ushering a (taken aback) William inside. Her place smelt of pine candles and freshly-baked gingerbread (probably from the kitchenette to his right.)

As for the woman herself, her long hair was draped in twin plaits over her shoulders, a red scarf tied in a bow just atop her head. And pinned to it, just above her fringe, sat a sprig of mistletoe. Ignoring that, William took in the sight of the black satin dress she wore, a matching red sash encircling her waist.

“I was beginning to worry you had jumped into someone else’s flat by mistake,” she continued as she led him to the living room, “so I brought the boys the cookie and they told me to check on you in case you were too nervous to knock… or had decided to spend the night with some other woman.” He hated how right she was with her first insinuation.

Just as promised, the only other people in this room were Othello, who greeted William with an energetic handshake; and Ronald, who tried to give him what he figured to be a fist bump, but failed miserably in his pitifully drunken state.

Good thing he was not on duty tomorrow, the director mentally chastised.

Decorations filled the room; although, William noted, it was not nearly as garish as he had been anticipating for her. An intricate Christmas village of white porcelain and gold trimming sat upon the mantle. There was a wreath on the wall behind the sofa, and holly hung from the ceiling above the windows. The red velvet curtains, which William surmised to be permanent decor, were perfectly cosy and fitting with the rest of the room; but the gold balls and candles in the window were a nice winter touch.

“It’s so quaint,” he told his hostess, hearing the strain in the statement. She seemed to as well as she eyed him suspiciously, but accepted the compliment nonetheless.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he continued awkwardly. Relationships outside the office were so foreign to him that he struggled to hold a conversation, but he wanted nothing more than to hear Grelle’s silken voice in his ear. The room was lit solely by a cosy fire which accentuated her features in a way that left William’s mind blank, as if he was not already struggling enough.

So, he sought refuge near the Christmas tree in the far corner of the room, taking more interest in it than casual conversation. It was decorated with gold tinsel, red globes, and a solitary white candle and star nestled at the top.

“C’mon, Mr. Spears, this your first party or something?” Ronald’s voice came shrill, tearing him away from the gentle flame, “have a drink, live like you never got to in life, boss!”

He accepted the invitation Ronald was forcing upon him with hesitancy. He took one sip and nearly dropped his glass in disgust.

“Oh, enough of that Ronnie,” Grelle chastised. She took the drink from it, downing it in one sip (whilst winking at him, dear God!) before going over to a table in the corner. She fixed him a whiskey soda that was _very_ heavy on the soda, then placed it directly in his hand.

He thanked her quietly, fearing his voice shook as he was sure his hands were at the contact.

“You’ve known her nearly a century and you choose now to behave like a school-boy,” he chided himself, forcing a smile. Before his knees could give out, he took a seat upon the chaise. Looking apprehensively at the trio chatting and laughing and enjoying themselves so easily upon the sofa, he let his shoulders drop.

He stared into his drink, at the upholstery, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. Always methodical, he convinced himself there was one right way to do things here and he told himself he was failing miserably.

As it was, he was noting how the chaise which he sat upon would fit perfectly into a noble woman’s boudoir – how appropriate for Grelle – when the lady herself sat down beside him, draping her arm around him and casually kissing his cheek.

Surprisingly, the only thought that came to his mind was recognition that she did not have her heels on anymore. He knew they gave her quite a few inches extra in height, and pictured what she would look like next to him, no longer matching his height; and he pictured too what it would be like to tuck her into his arms, whether her head would nestle comfortably into the crook of his neck, what her hair would smell like.

As though able to read his thoughts, she lay her head upon his shoulder, using the hand that was not drumming upon his shoulder to draw circles on his forearm. He knew he must be blushing when he saw the looks on the faces of the other two reapers across from him.

Thankfully, the remainder of the evening was an indistinctive blur. Not from alcohol, William had chosen to stick to his one weak drink for fear of making a fool of himself, but it was a very pleasant time even being sober. Grelle did not (fortunately or unfortunately) stay attached to him for the most part, and the four sat around and ate and drank and talked with one another; and William never once felt out of place.

He talked of himself, of his troubles with people, and received advice and encouragement (some helpful, some quite disturbing and concerning) from his colleagues. Was this what it was like to have friends?

The only thing he did not open up about was his discomfort regarding Ronald’s insistence that he “get laid” and that he would help William with such. He simply laughed and prayed that the boy would not remember that promise in the morning.

Ronald did eventually get a bit too giddy (and ill) and an apologetic Othello had to practically carry him home.

Suddenly, William wished he too had had a few more drinks upon realising that he was now left alone with his hostess. He sat on the edge of the chaise, playing with his empty glass, waiting for her to return from seeing her friends out.

“Her real friends,” he reminded himself aloud, “don’t delude yourself into thinking this was anything more than pity.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, dear Will?”

He looked up at the sound of her voice. He quickly returned his focus to his glass, not wanting her to see the embarrassment in his face. She let out a light laugh.

“True, I guess; this little evening was nothing special – I live to entertain darling,” she continued with mock coyness, sitting next to him yet again and nuzzling into her arm.

When William refused to look at her, she removed herself and pushed herself a bit further away, giving him space enough to breathe – or run.

“But, I’m very glad my stuffy boss got a chance to relax – hopefully his spirits will carry into the dispatch tomorrow.”

It was silent still, save for the wind howling outside and the fire burning low and red across from them.

“And I’m even more glad I was the one to loosen him up,” she tried.

His continued reserve was not particularly out of the ordinary, but his lack of reaction to the growing flirtation in her tone was almost startling to Grelle. She would have told him to leave, figuring he no longer wished to stay now that they were alone; but she got the impression he was not quite ready to leave yet – and she did not want him to go either.

She supposed a blunt accusation may be her last hope.

“Poor luck! I finally got the handsome Mr. William T. Spears alone in my house and he still dismisses my advances – what a wretched way to treat a Lady!”

“Why me?”

Grelle instinctively brought a manicured hand to her heart, blinking away her confusion.

“Your stoicism is simply so alluring, my dear Will,” she teased, although her expression did not match her tone. She brushed her fingers along his arm, but could not find his opinion on this action in his own expression.

“The harder you push me away, the greater the force of my rebound. That’s just the law of physics – and I’m sure a straight-laced man like you wouldn’t argue with the law.”

“Well, then stop.”

Short quips, sharp tones, this was the William she was used to.

She removed her hand, letting her usual energy drain from her body.

She managed to say, “I’m sorry,” just as he admitted, “You could never actually want a man like me.”

They let out simultaneous exclamations of surprise at the other’s confession. It was Grelle who broke the resulting silence first.

“You say that so definitively – and why? Or rather, why not?”

She carefully thought about her next course of action, her previous comment hanging heavily between their locked phosphorescent eyes as William struggled to find an answer.

Slowly, “you dismiss my advances, sure; but you’ve never expressed outright that you wished me to stop – I would have,” she began interlocking her fingers with his.

“You accept my flirting and teasing, and my other eccentricities (as upper management calls them) that would otherwise prevent others from taking me seriously.

“I’m constantly messing up or fooling around, and sure you punish me with more paperwork and stuff, but you’ve never requested I be transferred or demoted or anything. You’re so tolerant and understanding – and you’re freaking adorable.”

William’s eyes were still fixed on hers, entranced even, but he refrained from speaking. Neither did his face betray any emotion, until she huffed in exasperation, declaring, “Goddammit Will! Can’t you see I’m trying to say I’m in love with you? And I have been for, like, decades? I’m fair sure everyone in the dispatch knows. So why can’t that genius brain of yours comprehend that.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

It was the only thing he could say. He answered on impulse before fully taking in what she had said to him. Once he registered her sincerity, he was left near speechless, his expressionless exterior had been smashed to pieces. His lips trembled and his brow furrowed; his eyes had gone soft, yet reflected pain. He was shaking his head, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he struggled to find words. In any other circumstance Grelle would have laughed – the sight was truly amusing.

But she was far too lost for that.

“No,” he finally said, releasing her hand, “no, no, no! Why do you want me? I don’t want you to want me!”

“I ask again, why not?” She would not permit herself to cry in front of him, but she could feel angry tears forming in her eyes.

“Because,” the hurt in her face tugged on his heartstrings, telling him to not be afraid, to open up to her. “Because I don’t deserve love. How could anyone possibly love me? I’m broken – and I- and I don’t want to be fixed.”

She dared to move closer to him, making sure he was comfortable with the contact before she wrapped both her arms around his shoulders. Little did she know, he would have done anything to keep her at his side like that.

Kissing his hair, “how do you mean, my love?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to pull all his insecurities away as she smoothed a hand across his back.

“I can’t explain it,” William lamented, leaning into her touch, “I just feel different, like something’s different about me – but I can’t figure out what. It’s like God’s playing a sick joke on me or something and everyone else is laughing along with Him.”

“Are you really acting like _I_ can’t understand that feeling?” She shifted to her knees, placing her chin upon his head.

“But you at least figured out why you felt wrong. But it’s not like that. This is in my head or something.” Unused to having someone to talk to about his personal problems, William muddled through as much of an excuse as he could muster.

However, Grelle moved once more to meet him at eye-level, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes gleamed with a look of admonishment that made William feel like a child being punished.

She pouted at him, and raising one eyebrow enquired, “is it the sex?” pinching his cheeks. The forwardness of her tone was almost mocking; it certainly succeeded in convincing him to continue, but she jumped back in first. “We’re adults, Will, you can – nay, you should be able to – have a candid conversation about sex with your girlfriend.”

“And who said you were my girlfriend,” was actually what he ended up exclaiming, momentarily ignoring the first part of her comment.

“Oh please, as though you weren’t thinking it!” She tried to sound coquettish, but her voice was hollow. “What I don’t understand, though, is why you tried so hard to deny yourself of dear old moi?”

After a beat, “were you… ashamed of what I am?”

Any other doubt she could have considered abruptly left her head as William removed her hands from his face and used the momentum to pull her close. Very close. Their lips almost met, but William drew back before they could. Then as an afterthought, he leaned back in; but, to his surprise, she did not insist. She instead shook her head “no” and removed the mistletoe from her hair, setting them down on the table to emphasise her refusal. She then raised her eyebrows, daring him to explain himself.

“You are an incredible woman, Miss Sutcliffe,” he began, removing the restraints in her hair and brushing her plaits out.

“You may be annoying – even incorrigible at times – and bold and overly-flirtatious, and a convicted serial killer–” she interrupted him with a loud laugh, daintily bringing a hand to her mouth, pretending to show remorse for her actions. He knew she had none.

“Yet,” he eyed her bitterly as he drew out the word, “I could never feel shame for always having you on my mind.”

He drew his thumb gently across her lips, silently indicating that he did indeed wish to kiss her; and she quickly obliged. Her arms found their way around his neck, and his hands got lost in her soft, vanilla-scented hair. William moved slowly, tentatively, a bit unsure of what to do. But, as she had gladly taken the lead, he willingly resigned himself to her every command.

He did stop her, however, as he sensed her working her way into his lap.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

“No, please, you didn’t know.”

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t have done it.” She looked so genuinely guilty that he could not be angry with her.

“Please don’t fret that this has anything to do with you, my sweet.” He smiled at her, his hands having found her hips again. “Neither during my life, nor whatever not-quite-Hell we are experiencing now have I ever wanted to get too intimate with anyone. Not even with you, who I spent far more time fantasising about than I’d care to admit.”

He knew he was bright red, but steeled himself to continue his confession. Was it not tempting, he thought regardless, for her to see him flushed in her favourite colour after all this time?

“I never told you how I felt because I figured you wouldn’t want me if you knew. And perhaps, selfishly, I worried you’d stop your teasing if you knew your efforts were fruitless; though it embarrasses me to say, I more than don’t mind it.” He kept his eyes on her, but adjusted his glasses in an attempt to mask his slowly-slipping composure.

“Oh.” The single syllable left her lips, dissipating between the two reapers. William could not quite grasp the intention of this utterance, for the tone was too neutral to betray her.

But when she repeated herself, louder this time, a warmth filled his lonely little heart, flowing through every vein in his body. He could somehow hear the love and acceptance in her voice.

She looked at him sympathetically, understandingly, as though his confession had stripped him bare and exposed all his flaws; and she accepted them without question or hesitation.

She just laced her fingers together, keeping them settled at the nape of his neck, and smiled.

And William thought she had never looked more beautiful as she declared, “I can live with that, with this, with you and your stern expressions, and your cuddles,” her voice growing more sultry as she spoke, leaning ever so slightly closer to him.

Proud and _happy_ , he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her brow – he could hardly help himself after so long. Even with her smudged lipstick framing sharp (frankly terrifying) teeth, her mascara blurring upon her lower lashes, and her hair a bit tousled, she was his absolute perfection.

“What are you looking at, handsome,” she cooed once he had paused, pressing her forehead to his.

“You, beautiful.”

They stayed together, cuddled up on the chaise, sipping tea and talking. Just talking, like friends – a new experience for William. This conversation, however, was different than earlier. He had been chatting superficially with Ronald and Othello; it was honest and felt nice, but he was still wary the whole time of being too open, too honest about himself.

However, no such reluctance remained when he was alone with Grelle. Her presence brought about a calm he had not known himself capable of feeling. She listened attentively as he told of his old life, as well as his mundane days as a reaper; and he paid her just as much attention as she told her own stories, opening up about her own difficulties. Of course he was still struggling to understand these fully, but he was more than willing to learn all about it from her if it meant building a deeper, stronger bond with her.

She did not laugh at his hesitancies, his boundaries, and he knew she never would . When she asked him to stay the night – “just because it’s gotten so late, you see,” she had excused – she did not expect him to share her bed. Actually, she suggested she be the one out on the couch.

But he would not allow her. He saw no harm in sharing the bed. She initially laughed at his innocence, then realised that he knew full well the implications of his suggestion, but knew also that neither would he have any desires to act on, nor she pressure him with her own.

So she agreed, but not without a cheeky wink.

It was Grelle who suggested putting a pillow between them to solidify their individual space, but William said he would be more than happy to sleep with her in his arms.

He honestly was, and he honestly did. He slept soundly, entranced by the soft sounds of her breathing. He found it more peaceful than anything he had experienced in a very long while. He was relaxed, content, entwined with his more-than-acquaintance, Grelle Sutcliffe; for the first time in either of his lives, William T. Spears felt wholly and truly loved.


End file.
